


When Worlds Collide

by kaitlynsb



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Wholock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlynsb/pseuds/kaitlynsb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets an interesting case that doesn't make sense. He calls an old friend for help. There's a lot of adventures and discoveries. I'm bad a descriptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Curious Case of Jane Doe

**Author's Note:**

> A/N I'm really excited for this Wholock fic. Sorry if it's not good.

John put the kettle on and yawned. He hadn’t slept much last night. Sherlock wasn’t on a case, and as a result, was bored out of his mind. He had spent the whole night either yelling at the telly or playing violin. John used to be able to sleep through anything as a soldier, but he’d been home for long enough that he’d lost that ability. John tried to find some bread in the mess that was the kitchen. Abandoned experiments littered the counters, and beakers of mysterious substances that John didn’t even want to know what they were. He finally found some bread that hadn’t succumbed to Sherlock’s recent mould experiment. He popped it in the toaster and turned to the refrigerator to try to find some jam. John rummaged through the various body parts until he found a jar of his favorite strawberry jam. He knew he had been living with Sherlock far too long when the body parts in the fridge no longer bothered him. The kettle sang and John poured himself a cup of hot water and added a tea bag. He grabbed his toast from the toaster, spread jam on it, and then went into the sitting room to eat.  
Sherlock was sitting at the table, doing who knows what on his laptop. He was hunched over the keyboard, typing furiously, his brow furrowed.  
“Morning,” John mumbled. There was no response from the detective. John hadn’t figured he’d get one, but it didn’t hurt to try. He ate his breakfast in an awkward silence. After he finished eating, he cleaned up his plate and cup. Then he sat down with his laptop, opening up his blog. He scrolled through, hoping someone had posted a case on there somewhere, but no luck. It had been eight days without a case, and things had gone from bad to worse. Sherlock hadn’t spoken a word to John in days, and he’d taken to locking himself in his room during the day, only coming out at night. And the nights he spent watching crap telly, playing his violin, or just plain sulking. John had hidden his gun five days ago. The walls didn’t really need to take a pounding again. Sherlock hadn’t left the flat in days, and had worn the same clothes for four days now. He hadn’t hardly slept or eaten anything all week. John was worried about what would happen the longer they went without a case. As far as John knew, there were no drugs in the flat, but he made a mental note to search the place later.  
John grabbed the paper from coffee table and settled in to read it. About fifteen minutes later Sherlock’s phone rang from its place on the coffee table. Sherlock practically dove for it, pressing the answer call button. “Sherlock Holmes,” he answered. There were a few hmm’s from Sherlock before he hung up.  
“So?” John asked, setting the paper down.  
“That was Lestrade,” Sherlock replied. “He has a case for us.” He started dancing around the flat like a mad-man. John let out a breathy laugh and shook his head, but secretly he was thrilled. Sherlock needed this. “Unidentified woman found dead in her apartment with no apparent cause of death, no sign of forced entry, and no fingerprints or blood. Crime scene’s completely clean. Fantastic, isn’t it?!”  
“Uh-huh,” John hummed. He was used to this by now. People being murdered was Sherlock’s idea of fun, but he wasn’t a freak like everyone said he was. That’s just what interested him, what kept his brain occupied. Sherlock swept into his room, and came out a few minutes later, fully dressed. He grabbed his coat and scarf from the hook near the door, and tossed John his jacket. “Come on, John. The game is on.” John smiled to himself before putting on his jacket and following the world’s only consulting detective down the stairs and into a cab.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the crime scene. They were at an abandoned warehouse in Brixton. Sherlock jumped out of the cab as soon as it stopped, leaving John to pay the cabbie, as always. John walked towards the building, which was cordoned off with police tape. Sally Donavon stood near the entrance, talking with Anderson. She saw John as soon as he came up.  
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she remarked. “Freak hasn’t blown up the flat yet?” John just ignored her, ducking under the tape and walking into the warehouse. Scotland Yard officers bustled around, carrying various supplies. Sherlock and Lestrade were at the far end of the building. As John walked towards them, Sherlock pulled out his magnifying glass and started examining the corpse.  
“Hey,” Lestrade said as he came to stand next to him. “Sorry we haven’t had much in the way of cases for you guys lately.”  
“It’s no problem,” John lied. Lestrade was putting a lot on the line, allowing Sherlock so much access to crime scenes and such. Anything they could get was appreciated. “So, what’s the story?”  
“Girl was found here by a couple of druggies this morning,” Lestrade started. “We don’t have an ID yet, or cause of death. Scene’s completely clean, so’s the body. I’m completely out of my depth here.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.  
“Aren’t you always?” Sherlock remarked from over the body. “John, if you would stop chatting and help me out here?” John rolled his eyes, but moved to crouch over the body anyways. He slipped his gloves on and started examining the body.  
“Notice anything odd?” Sherlock asked. John moved over the body, trying to find anything out of place. “No,” he finally concluded.  
“Exactly,” Sherlock said. “She looks the picture of perfect health.”  
“So why is she dead?” John asked, legitimately confused.  
“I don’t know,” Sherlock whispered to him. John was taken aback. Sherlock wasn’t one to admit when he didn’t know the answer. He always just pretended he did.  
“Send to body to St. Bart’s,” Sherlock told Lestrade, standing up and brushing his hands on his trousers. “I need to do some further investigating before I examine the body further.”  
“Um, okay,” Lestrade stuttered. This wasn’t typical Sherlock behavior. Usually he looked at the body for two minutes and knew everything there was to know about them. “I’ll send it there when we’re done processing the scene.”  
“Excellent,” Sherlock said, plowing past him and out the door, leaving Lestrade standing there looking extremely confused. John jogged after his flatmate, catching up with him just as he was getting into a cab.  
“Where are we going?” John asked, catching his breath.  
“Back to Baker Street,” Sherlock replied, not meeting John’s eyes. “I need to call a colleague of mine for assistance.”


	2. A Call to an Old Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a call to an old friend for help. John is very confused by this man who calls himself the Doctor, and his strange "companion" Clara Oswald. They take a look at the body and find out something they definitely didn't expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to everyone who read the last chapter. That's the most reads I've ever had, so thanks guys! Hope you enjoy this new chapter! This chapter will introduce the Doctor and Clara, and the next will introduce Dean, Sam, and Cas.

John probably sat with his mouth hanging open the whole way back to Baker Street. Sherlock never called anyone for help. As far as John knew, he didn’t have any “colleagues” besides him. When they pulled up to the flat, Sherlock ran in, taking the stairs two at a time and slamming the door shut behind him. Mrs. Hudson came out to greet John.  
“My, he seems in a hurry, doesn’t he?” she commented. “Is everything all right?”  
“Honestly, I don’t know,” John replied.  
“Well, I have biscuits down here if you need them,” Mrs. Hudson said. “And don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine. My husband was the same way. I remember one time…”  
“Yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson,” John interrupted before he was regaled with another fascinating story about the late Mr. Hudson. He climbed the stars towards 221B. He entered the room to find Sherlock rifling through a bunch of papers on his table. Papers were flying everywhere and there were several already on the floor.  
“What are you doing?” John asked, exasperated.   
“What does it look like?” Sherlock bit back, not turning to face him. “Looking for something.”  
“What are you looking for?” John said, managing to keep an even tone.  
“A phone number,” Sherlock replied.   
“For this colleague of yours?” John asked.  
“Yes,” Sherlock said. “It’s not exactly a number that you would find in the phonebook.”  
“Okay then,” John said. He went over and sat in his chair. He would just get in Sherlock’s way if he tried to help, so he decided to not even bother. John didn’t know how Sherlock could find anything in that mess.  
Sherlock let out a sigh of exasperation before moving into his room. John decided to make some tea while he waited. This could take a while. Sherlock’s room was even more of a mess than the table.   
John had just finished his cuppa when he heard a cry of triumph from Sherlock’s room.   
“Found it!” Sherlock said, coming back into the sitting room. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number. It rang for a good long while before it appeared that someone finally answered. John couldn’t hear what they said, but he did hear Sherlock’s reply. “Hello, is this the Doctor?” John felt offended by that. Sherlock was calling another doctor for help?! He had a perfectly good doctor right here.  
“Ah, Doctor, hello” Sherlock said a minute later. “Well, I have a case you might be interested in . . . yes, a woman was killed. No cause of death, no prints, no ID on the body, nothing. The crime scene and the body are both completely clean. I figured this might be your kind of thing . . . Yes, alright. Good.” Then he hung up the phone.   
“He should be here shortly,” Sherlock said.  
“You called another doctor to help?” John asked, trying to sound calm.  
“Not a doctor,” Sherlock replied, “the Doctor. He’s not actually a doctor. Or maybe he is.”  
“What?” John asked. He was really confused now, so he just about passed out when a blue box started materializing in the middle of their sitting room. It made this weird wheezing sound as it materialized. John jumped back, almost falling over, but Sherlock caught him just in time. The box fully materialized and John got a closer look at it. It was a blue box that looked like a phone booth with a lantern on top. The side that faced him and Sherlock had two doors on it. One door said, “St. John Ambulance,” and the other had a plaque on it. The top of the box said “Police Public Call Box.” Suddenly, the door opened, and a very strange looking man came out. He was tall, about Sherlock’s height, and had floppy brown hair. He was wearing a long purple speckled jacket, a blue button-up shirt, black waistcoat, black pants, black ankle boots, and it was all accented by a purple polka-dotted bow tie.   
“Sherlock!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Good to see you! And you must be Dr. Watson.” He came over, offering John his hand to shake. John had a sudden realization that he was still in Sherlock’s arms. He jumped away, clearing his throat, but he didn’t take the man’s hand.  
“Who are you?” John asked. “And how do you know who I am?”  
“I would say it’s because Sherlock’s told me all about you,” the man said, withdrawing his hand, “but that’s only partly true.”  
“What’s the other part?”  
“I read the books,” the Doctor replied, smiling.  
“Excuse me?” John was beginning to wonder if confused was just going to become his normal mental state. The Doctor just laughed at his question.   
“You got here rather quickly,” Sherlock said, speaking for the first time.  
“Yes, I was quite surprised by that too,” the Doctor said, chuckling.  
“So was I,” a voice commented from behind the Doctor. John saw for the first time that the Doctor wasn’t the only person that had arrived in the strange box. Standing behind the Doctor was a young woman, probably in her late 20’s. She wore a green polka-dotted dress, black blazer, black tights, and black ankle-high boots. She had straight, shoulder-length brown hair and she was quite short.   
“Sherlock, John, this is Clara Oswald,” the Doctor said, referring to the woman. “She’s my companion.”  
“Companion?” John asked. That was an odd choice of words.  
“I travel with him,” the woman, Clara, clarified.   
“Travel where?” John asked.  
“Anywhere in time and space,” the Doctor replied. “I would ask if you’d like to see, but that’ll have to wait.”   
“Yes, it most certainly will,” Sherlock said. John was now pretty sure he was dreaming, or this Doctor was crazy.  
“Why are you here?” John asked, his question directed at the Doctor.  
“Sherlock called for help on a case,” the Doctor replied.  
“I meant, why would Sherlock call you? He’s got a perfectly good doctor right here,” John said, trying not to brag too much.  
The Doctor laughed. “I’m well aware of that. From what Sherlock’s told me about you, you’re more than good.” John blushed at that. “But if you must know, I’m not a medical doctor. Well, that might not be strictly true. I’m not entirely sure though.”  
“If you’re not a medical doctor, then what are you a doctor of?” John asked.  
“Doctor isn’t a title, it’s my name,” the Doctor replied.   
“That’s not a name.”  
“Well, it’s my name. And Sherlock called me because this particular case seems to fall into my area of expertise.”  
“Which is, what exactly?” John was very perplexed by this man. He didn’t make any sense.  
“The extra-terrestrial,” the Doctor replied. Now John was pretty sure this man was crazy.  
“You mean, like aliens?” John asked in return, skeptical.  
“Yep,” the Doctor said.   
“Aliens don’t exist.”  
“That’s what I used to think,” Clara piped up. “But they’re real, I promise.”  
“How did you get mixed up in all this nonsense?” John asked her.  
“It’s a long story,” Clara replied.  
“So, how do you know so much about aliens then, if they are real?” John asked, directing his question to the Doctor now.  
“Because I am one,” the Doctor replied, sounding extremely calm for someone claiming to be from outer space.  
John opened his mouth to ask another question, but Sherlock beat him to it. “There’ll be more time for questions later, John. For now, there’s a body in the morgue that needs examining.” John was still extremely lost, but Sherlock took him by the shoulders and steered him towards the door.

John wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, but he’d somehow ended up squished in a cab with Sherlock, Clara, and the Doctor. The last few minutes had all been a blur. He tried to process everything that had just happened, but his brain kept short-circuiting. John glanced over at Sherlock, who seemed totally fine with everything. He had obviously met this Doctor before, but John wasn’t really sure how that had happened, if this Doctor was in fact an alien that travelled through time and space. John’s brain was going in circles as the cab pulled up to the kerb outside St. Bart’s. Still in a trance, his body went on auto-pilot, following the others into the hospital and down the halls to the morgue.  
Molly glanced up when the four of them walked in. If she was surprised to see the Doctor and Clara, she didn’t show it. “The body just arrived. I haven’t even done an autopsy yet.”   
“An autopsy won’t be necessary, Molly,” Sherlock interjected.   
“But…” Molly stammered.  
“Why don’t you go get some lunch,” Sherlock suggested, guiding her out the door. “You look like you could use some.”  
“I can’t leave you alone in here,” Molly said, turning around. “Especially considering I don’t know who these people are.”  
“Royal Society of Medicine,” the Doctor said, producing a slip of paper from his jacket pocket. It did indeed say Royal Society of Medicine on it somehow. John didn’t get to see what the rest of the paper said before the Doctor slipped it back into his pocket. “We’ve been asked to take a look at the body.”   
“Um, well okay then,” Molly said, seeming confused, but she let Sherlock guide her back out the door.   
“Goodbye, Molly,” Sherlock said, shutting the door on the confused pathologist.  
Both Sherlock and the Doctor moved to take a look at the body. John and Clara stood back. “How did you do that? With the paper?” John asked.  
“Psychic paper,” the Doctor replied, leaning over the young woman’s body. “I can make it say anything I want to, really. It fools most species with a lower-level brain function.” John thought he should be offended by that, but he brushed it aside.  
“So, body’s completely clean, so was the crime scene,” the Doctor stated, going over the facts of the case. “No cause of death that you could find.”  
“Right,” Sherlock responded.  
“Right then,” the Doctor said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see what she can tell us.” He pulled a strange device from his pocket. It looked kind of like electric toothbrush with a green orb on the top instead of bristles. The Doctor pointed it at the body and pressed a button. The orb lit up and the device made a kind of buzzing noise.  
“What is that thing?” John asked as the Doctor ran the device over the body.  
“Sonic Screwdriver,” the Doctor replied. “But it does much more than build cabinets.”  
“What are you doing with it?”  
“I’m scanning the body.” The Doctor stopped “scanning” the body and flicked the sonic screwdriver. Clamps at the top came apart, and the Doctor examined the screwdriver.  
“Interesting,” the Doctor murmured. John wasn't entirely sure what a screwdriver could tell him.  
“What is?” Sherlock asked.  
“The body seems to be in perfect condition,” the Doctor responded, still squinting at the screwdriver. “But the brain is shut down.”  
“That doesn’t make sense,” Sherlock mumbled. “By all accounts, she shouldn’t be dead.”  
“Exactly,” the Doctor said. “So why is she?”  
“You think it could be something . . . not human?” Clara asked.  
“It must be,” the Doctor said. “A woman doesn’t just drop dead when she’s in perfect health. No human weapon could do that.”  
“So, how do we find out what did this?” John asked.  
“I’m going to scan the body for alien tech,” the Doctor said, pointing his screwdriver back at the corpse. Everyone fell silent for a minute, making the buzzing sound of the sonic screwdriver the only noise in the room. After a minute, the Doctor once again started examining the device.  
“Now that is very intriguing,” the Doctor said.  
“What did you find?” Sherlock asked, leaning over the body.  
“This body is not, in fact, human,” the Doctor replied.  
“What?” John, Clara, and Sherlock all asked simultaneously. The Doctor was leaning over the body’s face, his nose almost touching the woman’s.  
“She’s, like, a robot or something?” Clara asked.  
“Just a robot, not something,” the Doctor replied. John saw Clara roll her eyes. The Doctor straightened, and also straightened his bow tie. “This is, in a fact, a robot called the Teselecta. A robot run by miniaturised people that can make itself appear like anyone. It’s a Justice Department Vehicle. Its job is to find and punish the universe’s greatest criminals.”  
“What’s it doing here?” Clara asked.  
“No idea,” the Doctor said. “But I know how to find out.”  
“And how do you intend to do that?” Sherlock asked.   
“As I said, the Teselecta is run by miniaturised people,” the Doctor said. “The vessel is equipped with a minituarisation ray. Inside, there’s a computer that runs the whole system. That computer contains the data banks. If I can access those data banks, I could find out what the Teselecta’s mission was when it was shut down.”  
“What about the people inside?” John asked.  
“All dead,” the Doctor said, sounding melancholy.   
“Then how do we get in to access the data banks?” Sherlock asked.  
“Using the sonic, I can remotely access the miniaturisation ray,” the Doctor replied. “I could use that to teleport us into the body.”  
“Us?” Clara asked.  
“Yes, I’ll need someone to go with me, to keep watch,” the Doctor said.  
“Keep watch for what?” John asked, slightly worried.  
“The Teselecta is also home to robotic organisms called antibodies,” the Doctor said. “They rid the body of anything not authorised to be there.”  
“And how do they do that?” John asked.  
“They kill them,” the Doctor replied calmly. The atmosphere in the room suddenly became tense. “If we’re lucky they’ve been shut down along with the body, but I’d rather not take chances. So, who’s coming with?”  
No one was exactly keen to volunteer. John thought it would have to come down to a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors when he suddenly found himself saying, “I will.”  
“John,” Sherlock started to say.  
“Excellent,” the Doctor interrupted. “You’ll do quite nicely, being an ex-soldier and all.” John started to move towards the Teselecta. Sherlock came around the table, grabbing John by the shoulders.  
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, looking John in the eye.  
“I’ll be fine,” John said, secretly liking how concerned Sherlock was for his safety.  
“You’d better be,” Sherlock replied. “Just be careful.”  
“I always am,” John said, only half telling the truth.  
“Ready, Dr. Watson?” the Doctor asked.  
John took a deep breath. “I guess.” The Doctor pointed his screwdriver at the Teselecta and John felt a strange pull in his gut as the world around him disappeared.


	3. An Anatomy Lesson (Sort Of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and the Doctor are inside the Teselecta, searching for answers to its death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't posted anything on this in a while. I've been really busy lately with school. Thanks to anyone who's been reading this, you guys are awesome.

John finds himself standing in a corridor of some sort. When he comes to himself, the Doctor is already moving down the corridor.  
“Come on, Dr. Watson,” he calls back. “We need to hurry.”  
John follows after the Doctor, looking around as he goes. This ‘Teselecta’, or whatever it is, looks like something out of a sci-fi movie. John wonders, not for the first time that day, if he’s dreaming. He had watched Star Trek the day before. Into Darkness was one of his favorite films. John pinches himself just to check. He feels a sharp pain, and he realises this isn’t a dream. He rubs his arm and keeps walking, trying to keep up with the Doctor’s large stride. John is struck by how empty this place is. The Doctor had said the Teselecta was run by miniaturised people, but there was no one here.  
At the end of the corridor is a door. The Doctor pulls out his screwdriver again, pointing it at the door. The door hisses and opens, revealing a room that looks like some kind of command center. The Doctor and John step into the room, and the Doctor seals the door behind them. It’s then that John notices the bodies. There are about five or six dead bodies around the room. The Doctor walks over to the one in the chair in the center of the room. It’s a man with grey hair cut military style and dressed in some sort of uniform. There’s no sign of trauma, but he’s obviously dead.  
“What happened here?” John asks the Doctor, who is crouched over the dead man.  
“That’s what we’re going to try to find out,” the Doctor replies. He stands up and brushes off his pants. “We need to get into the data banks.”  
“Where are those?” John asks.  
“Deeper into the center of the Teselecta,” the Doctor answers. He points to a door on the other side of the room. “The Teselecta appears to be deactivated, but I don’t know about the antibodies. Best to be prepared.” John figures he means being armed. He pulls his Browning out from the band of his trousers where he always keeps it. The Doctor uses his screwdriver to open the door, and they step into another corridor. This is one is darker than the other. John keeps his gun at the ready as they walk down the corridor. The atmosphere is tense, and John is on high alert. The corridor turns to the left and keeps going.  
“The Teselecta is built to be anatomically correct,” the Doctor explains. “This place is built like the human brain. We need to get to the data banks, which are going to be in the part associated with the hippocampus.” John remembered from his medical training that the hippocampus was located in the center of the brain. “We came in through the eye, and we just came through the frontal lobe.”  
John knew they had to pass through the hypothalamus to get to the hippocampus. The hypothalamus was the part of the brain that regulated the body’s hormones. John hoped they didn’t find anything odd in there. He and the Doctor come to another door. The Doctor opens it and they step into another type of control room. There are a few dead bodies here as well. The room is dark and John feels uneasy. Something had to have killed all these people, and he really didn’t want to meet whatever it was. The Doctor opens the door on the other side of the room, and John finds himself in yet another corridor. Except this one isn’t empty.  
“Welcome, you are unauthorized,” comes a voice from the jellyfish looking robot at the other end of the corridor. “Your death will now be implemented.”  
“What’s that?” John asks, a little scared to be honest.  
“That would be the antibodies,” the Doctor replies calmly.  
“What do we do?!” John asks as the thing comes closer.  
“Remain calm as your life is extracted,” the antibody says.  
“Yeah I don’t think so,” John says, shooting the robot. The robot drops to the ground and fizzles out.  
“Not the way I would have done it, but that works,” the Doctor remarks. “We should hurry before we get stopped by any more of them.” They start running to the other end of the corridor, but they’re stopped by another antibody. “You will experience a tingling sensation, and then death,” it tells them. John and the Doctor turn to run towards the door, but they’re blocked by a third antibody. “Welcome, you are unauthorized, your death will now be implemented.”  
“This way!” the Doctor yells, pointing to a door in the other direction. John follows him and they run into the other room, sealing the door on one of the antibodies and crushing it. John puts his hands on his knees and bends over, breathing heavy. The Doctor is walking around the room, looking at things. This room is empty and completely dark. That seems a bit off to John.  
“Where are we?” John asks. But before the Doctor can answer, Sherlock appears on the other side of the room, clutching at his stomach. John points his gun at him, knowing it’s probably not the consulting detective.  
“John,” the image of Sherlock gasps out, falling to the ground. John stands frozen, unable to move as he watches his friend struggle to breath. Unable to resist the urge to run to Sherlock’s side, John drops to his knees next to the detective. He sees the gunshot wound in Sherlock’s abdomen, and immediately puts pressure on the wound. “You’re going to be okay,” he says, unsure if he’s reassuring himself or Sherlock. Sherlock closes his eyes, his breathing shallow and slow. “No, no, no, come on,” John begs his friend. But he watches as the life bleeds out of his best friend. John freezes, not sure how to process this.  
John looks for the Doctor, wondering if he’d seen what happened. He finds the Doctor on the other side of the room, staring at a couple. The woman has long red hair and wears jeans, a striped white and blue shirt, and a tan coat. The man has short brown hair and wears a white button up, grey coat, and jeans. The Doctor is looking at them like he’s seen a ghost. As John watches, a statue of an angel takes the place of the man. The Doctor and the woman stare at the statue. The woman is crying now. She speaks to the Doctor, but John can’t hear her. “Amelia, please, just get in the TARDIS,” the Doctor says to her, crying now as well. “Come along, Pond, please.” The woman, Amelia, turns to face the Doctor, taking her eyes off the statue for the first time. She disappears, leaving the Doctor staring at the statue, tears running down his face. John is about to go to him, but suddenly Sherlock’s body disappears, replaced with a smiling Jim Moriarty. John finds himself again by that awful pool. Sherlock is pointing his gun at the explosive vest on the ground, and John finds himself again afraid he’s going to die. John knows what happens next and he knows they’re going to be fine. But then Sherlock shoots the vest and everything is engulfed in flames. He screams, but he can’t feel anything. He loses track of Sherlock and Moriarty, and he is alone now. He screams Sherlock’s name as his world turns to fire. He’s still shouting for Sherlock when the flames die down and he finds himself on the floor in the empty room again.  
The scene in front of the Doctor has changed as well. That woman, Clara, is lying on the ground, apparently dying. “Run you clever boy, and remember,” John hears her say as she dies. The Doctor stays crouched over her body, silent. John is still on the floor, not sure he can get up. Clara’s body disappears, but the Doctor doesn’t get up.  
“I believe we found the amygdala, Dr. Watson,” he says quietly. John realises he’s right. The amygdala is the part of the brain that processes fear. John had been forced to live his worst fears, and he knows the Doctor had been as well. John stands, collecting himself.  
“We need to get out of here,” John tells the Doctor.  
“You’re right,” the Doctor says, coming to stand next to John. “When I open that door, we’re going to have to make a run for it.”  
John nods and prepares himself to run. The Doctor opens the door, and they run down the hall to the door on the other end, the antibodies chasing them. “Quickly!” John says as the reach the door. “I’m trying,” the Doctor says, struggling to get his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. The antibodies are approaching quickly, still threatening death. “Got it!” the Doctor says, using his screwdriver to open the door. They run into the next room and the Doctor closes the door behind them. The room before John is unlike anything he’s ever seen. The room is massive and filled with hundreds of shelves of books. John whistles to himself, unsure of how they’re ever going to find the memories they need in here.  
“This is long-term memory,” the Doctor explains. “It’s organized by date, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find what we need.” John breathes a sigh of relief. He wants to get out of the Teselecta as quickly as possible. The Doctor walks to the nearest shelf and pulls out the first book. The book doesn’t have any words though. It projects a video of what are apparently the Teselecta’s memories. John sees a video of the Teselecta speaking with a computer. There’s no sound in the memory, so it’s hard for John to tell what’s going on. As the video continues John sees the Teselecta come to London. It looks like it’s searching for something, or someone. It’s what happens next that makes John’s heart skip a beat and his breath catch in his throat. The Teselecta has come to the warehouse where the body had been found. But it’s not alone. On the other side of the room stands Jim Moriarty, wearing his customary black suit and black tie. There’s another man with him, a man with short bright blond hair and wearing a black suit, waistcoat, and red tie. John can’t hear what’s going on, but he sees the blond man pulls out a strange device, and the picture fizzles out. The book is just showing static now, but the Doctor makes no move to close it. The Doctor looks as surprised as John feels. John doesn’t know how to comprehend what he saw. If Moriarty knew about the Teselecta, what else did he know about? John couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all in danger, including the Doctor and Clara.  
“What do we do now?” John asks quietly. The Doctor seems to come out of a trance.  
“Firstly, we need to get out of here,” he says, slamming the book shut. He puts it back on the shelf and starts toward the door. John follows after him as they come back the way they came. John pulls his gun out, but the Doctor is moving too quickly for the Antibodies to get to them. They make it back to the control room and the Doctor immediately pulls out his sonic screwdriver and points it towards the console. John feels that strange tug in his gut again as the world turns to black.


End file.
